Boy came down with croup on Tuesday night. I had checked on him at 11 p.m. and he was sleeping soundly, quietly. He started coughing at 11:30, and it very quickly turned into a croup cough (hard, seal-like barking sound). He was crying and panicking because he could not get enough air into his lungs.
Croup has happened before in our house so I knew what to do: alternate steam in the shower with putting his head in the freezer. (Humidity helps reduce the swelling in the throat.) He was barely better after 40 minutes, so we decided to take him to a hospital.
Husband called a Porteño colleague with kids who lives near in the neighborhood. She said (in her sleep) the name of the hospital that was the closest to our apartment. Although we had been told the best hospitals in BsAs for children, especially for those who primarily speak English, we chose a nearby hospital because Boy was struggling to breathe. Husband and I (Husband's father and his wife are visiting, so they stayed with the sleeping Girl) took a taxi to a public hospital.
The taxi dropped us at the curb. There was no ER entrance or signage. We had to ask security guards where to go, which included dark doorways and hallways and a few sleeping/drunk homeless men. The overall condition of the hospital was not well lit and dirty by U.S. standards.
We were directed to a door that said pediátrico and told to ring a buzzer. After a few minutes a woman appeared and said (in Spanish—no one spoke English) to wait on some dirty chairs that she motioned towards. After a few minutes another woman appeared and beckoned Husband (who was holding Boy at the time) but said that I had to stay out. I watched them disappear into a dark room. I waited impatiently for a few minutes then decided to try the door. It was open, so I sneaked in. I expected to be thrown out, and was poised to argue with anyone who confronted me.
I entered into a large dark ward full of sleeping (some whimpering) children and babies. I quickly found Husband and Boy. Boy was sitting on a plastic chair wearing a mask, breathing what Husband thought was a steroidal breathing treatment. A woman told Husband to have him breathe with the mask on for five minutes. No one returned. After ten minutes, I shut off the machine. We looked around for someone to acknowledge us but no one did. We walked out of the pediatric ward and then out of the hospital. We did not pay (we would have, of course) because there was absolutely no personnel around. We could have scooped up a few sleeping babes if we had wanted to. A homeless guy hit us up for money as we walked to the street to find a taxi.
In June 2009 Boy had croup that required an ER visit at Nationwide Children's Hospital. These two experiences could not have been much more different. The colleague who suggested the public hospital appeared at our apartment the next morning, horrified that she had sent us there in her sleepy state. She was relieved, as were we, that Boy had a good night—he slept relatively well and had a good appetite the following day.
In the morning I called a pediatrician who is a friend of our well connected realtor. House calls are common here, so the doctor came to our apartment. A Porteño who had studied at the Cleveland Clinic and had lived in Chicago, she could not have been more professional or more kind. She prescribed prednisone and said if we needed a hospital again to go to the German or British hospitals. The 30-minute house call cost $150 pesos (about $38 USD). She gave me a receipt, which should be reimbursed by our insurance company. She called this morning to see how Boy slept during the night and to make certain that he was okay. I have never felt more cared for by a medical professional.
Another new experience was getting the prescription filled. Doctor’s offices here do not call in prescriptions, so you have to go to one of the many pharmacies, where the focus seems to be perfume and anti-cellulite treatments. I sent my father-in-law—a fluent Spanish speaker—out to fill the prescription. He returned with the prednisone as well as with the doctor’s note, which the pharmacy did not keep. I have been told you can get many drugs without a prescription if you know how to ask. Well, I don’t know how to ask, and I have no idea what would be good (on average I take maybe two Tylenol a year), but I think it is an interesting opportunity.
Husband and I feel incredibly fortunate that Boy is fine and that it wasn't a life-or-death situation, because we probably would have been in the wrong place. Now we know exactly where to go in case of an emergency. I was reminded that we should always figure this out, especially in foreign countries. You should, too.
Here are a couple of unrelated pics from the last week:
Art day at the Florence Nightingale School.
Art day at the Florence Nightingale School.
Parque de la Costa in Tigre, Argentina.
At Parque de la Costa in Tigre, Argentina. (Ball pit is probably what made Boy sick.)
At Parque de la Costa in Tigre, Argentina.
